Dark Hearts
by SyllableFromSound
Summary: Even the blackest of souls are capable of love. Even the killers of ice-cold blood have warmth within them. Bad summary, I know. Rated T for violence. R&R.


**Ooookaaaay, so…MY FIRST FIC! X3 This is more or less just an experimental one-shot. Hope you guys like it!**

_SLASH!_

There was nothing but a fleeting flash of liquid silver, and suddenly the assassin's dagger was in the stomach of the enemy. The opponent froze just as he was about to bring down his sword, and as he did, everything else seemed to stop along with him—the shocked look on his face was one his attacker knew all too well. On the other end of the knife, she could feel the flesh and muscle tear as the blade mercilessly worked its way ever closer toward the internal organs. At last—there—she felt it, the dagger reaching its true target. It had pierced the stomach.

"Bingo," she muttered to herself with satisfaction. She yanked out the knife like a gardener pulling out a particularly stubborn weed. The man fell to his knees and uselessly gasped for air, that wide-eyed look of surprise and agony still upon his face. A spray of red liquid came out from his stomach. Some of it landed on the killer, starkly contrasting against her white skin. She didn't flinch. Finally, he fell forward onto the cold earth. Dead.

_Anyone who thinks blood is only one color has never killed, _she thought to herself as she turned unemotionally away from the kill. And she was quite right—it wasn't just a simply shade of red. There were crimsons and maroons and scarlets and rubies and wine-reds and mahogany-reds and even—her personal favorite—a red so dark that it was almost black.

At that moment, one of her fellow shinobi came up to her, looking authoritative and businesslike. _What nerve…_

"Did you manage to kill the last of them?"

"Yep," she replied simply as she cleaned off her weapon.

"Good number of souls this time, eh?"

"Hmm…lost my appetite," she muttered vaguely as she gazed around the battlefield. Just above it were a hundred or so human souls, ghostly blue orbs that hovered eerily in mid-air. Things that had once supported life, but no more—now the only life they would support would be that of madness.

She turned away. "Come on, let's just hurry up and get back to HQ."

Back in the hideout, she rushed over, half-running, to her room. From it she could hear loud whimpering that she knew would soon develop into all-out wailing. At last, she reached the small crib where her son of just barely six months lay. She quickly scooped him up and patted him. That was more than enough to stop his tears—he _hated _being ignored. That's why she'd wanted to stay with him, rather than going on that mission with everyone else. But it wasn't possible—ninja moms didn't get maternity leave.

Suddenly, he looked up at her. And those eyes—she had to smile as she gazed at them, the eyes of her child, her little one…her Black*Star. Thos big, green, innocent, trusting eyes: when she saw them, she couldn't help but feel that the hand of ice that seemed to have a permanent grasp on her heart melted, just a little bit…

"Sky*Star! Put the kid down and listen."

She grimaced with disgust as she turned around to look at _him, _the Hand resuming its choke-hold with a vengeance_. _She faced him reluctantly, but did not put down her child. "Now what is it, White*Star?" The question was asked in a low voice that was almost a growl. God, how she hated him…

He chuckled coldly. "Can't a man come see his wife without having another motive, _honey?_"

She rolled her eyes.

The twisted, cruel smile disappeared from his thin lips. "We've got a problem here."

"Shocking."

He glared at her, but continued. "We're in trouble with the DWMA…a small troop of ours killed a few of their students, and now Shinigami's out for all of our heads."

She turned away quickly, her short blue hair bouncing around her face and then settling back down again. "And just what the hell do you want me to do about it?"

"I'm asking you to help."

"No."

"Scratch that. I'm _telling _you to help."

"No."

He snarled, and had to stop himself from strangling her then and there. God, how he hated her…

But he just put that malignant grin back on his face. "Alright, then, Sky…do what you want. But if you end up on the other end of a meister's blade, well…don't come crying to me about it." He slammed the door behind him.

Her eyes were by now full of so much pure fury that as she stared at the closed black door, she hoped they would burn a hole right through it and straight into the back of his head. She hugged Black*Star closer to her chest. Tomorrow—tomorrow she'd leave this life of nothing but death and insanity. She's sneak out, and never return. And she'd take her son with her.

Tomorrow.

That night, he crept into her room. He'd done this so many times before, so many times that it was now nothing to the white-haired ninja. He allowed the darkness to envelope him, to conceal him. He listened to her soft, deep breathing. She was asleep—yes, most definitely asleep. And this was his chance—almost too easy.

In the crib next to her bed, Black*Star had woken up. He made a nervous whining noise that was more reminiscent of a frightened puppy than a small child.

"Shut up," White*Star hissed under his breath. He had the urge to hit him in the mouth, just to make him shut up, but knew that would only make it worse.

At last, he was standing over his wife. She lay there unaware, peaceful.

Slowly, he grasped the dagger with both hands. Slowly, he raised it into position, directly over her forehead. Slowly, he prepared for the strike…

And then he stopped. He hesitated. For the first time since he'd been preparing this plan—months upon months he'd been thinking about it—he hesitated. This was a woman he'd loved, after all, at least at one point. Could he truly end the existence of one who'd shared his heart?

"But you don't love her anymore. She is nothing to you but a hindrance. Go! Do what you do best and _kill!_"

This was the madness talking. The words hadn't been spoken by any human mouth—no, rather they'd come from the depths of the blackest shadows, from the evil glint of the blade, from the demons that now existed in every aspect of his life. They'd been there since the insanity had taken its relentless hold—no, that wasn't it. They'd probably always been there, in the back of his mind. The insanity had just lured them out.

Whatever the case, the voice had been a delusion created by his demented mind. But he'd heard it—oh, he'd heard it. With renewed adrenaline coursing through his veins, wearing the same crazed smile that had become more and more common with him, he drove the dagger down through his wife's eye and into her brain. She didn't make a sound.

**13 years later…**

The cold rain fell, heavy drops slamming into the ground, almost looking more like hail. Through the low, steady drumming of the thunder and the transparent curtain of the downpour, a straight and noble pine tree stood. On one side, Tsubaki looked at her meister with a cautious, almost guilty concern. She couldn't help but feel sympathetic, even though she knew he didn't want her pity. On the other, Black*Star stood there, looking uncharacteristically stoic.

"Black*Star…do you resent the DWMA?" Her voice was soft and passive, but still carried a tone of curiosity.

He chuckled in reply. "Not really. We're talking about when I only had a little starness, you know? My old man and old lady crossed a line they shouldn't have."

Yes, they had crossed a line. And as a result, they'd paid for their crimes.

…But who truly paid the heaviest price?

**Wow…I honestly have no idea whether that was crappy or not, so…**

**REVIEW!**


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